


Ambition Minifics

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Dark Side Logan [7]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A little angst, Ambition Logan, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Logic | Logan Sanders is a Dark Side, Shedding, Sympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Sympathetic Logic | Logan Sanders, Sympathetic Morality | Patton Sanders, mostly fluf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: This is just where I'll be posting all the random little stories I end up writing for the darkside Logan universe.
Series: Dark Side Logan [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725013
Comments: 27
Kudos: 128





	1. First Shed

He wakes up with a groan, stretching, then curling further under the covers. 

He doesn’t feel like moving. Like getting up and doing much of anything, really. Which is unusual for him. He’s become more lenient on himself when it comes to a schedule, not working 24/7, but he generally is an early riser. 

It’s already nearly ten o clock. He has to get up, at least, and get something to eat. 

With another groan, he forces himself to get up and get dressed, pulling on his usual outfit, though it feels a little scratchy today, for some reason. He hums in thought as he shoves open the door, slogging his way to the kitchen and popping bread in the toaster. 

Idly, he taps his fingers against the counter, finding himself idly rubbing his face. It feels good, he hadn’t realized his face was itchy, but now that he’s rubbing it, it only feels itchier and more irritated when he stops, like a mosquito bite. 

“Amby! You’re up!” He chuckles as Remus collides into him from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist and nuzzling his head against his cheek. He feels warm, and he leans back, into the contact. He can sense Remus’s delight at his mere presence, his desire to make him happy, make him laugh, and it sparks a lingering happiness in his stomach.

“I am. What have you been up to this morning?” He asks, feeling Remus shrug. 

“You know, the normal, rampaging through the imagination as Godzilla, but with more tentacles, eating innocent zombie bears, starting forest fires.” Cygnus doubts he’d actually done any of that, but he laughs anyway, as Remus starts rocking them both from side to side. “You slept late.” He hears the unasked question. 

“I’m alright. I don’t feel ill, and I don’t believe I have a fever. I’m just… feeling off, I suppose is the word for it. Nothing definable is wrong, but…” He shrugged, and Remus released him as the toaster popped, making Cygnus jump three feet in the air, barely biting back a screech of surprise. Remus raises a brow, circling around him, head tilted slightly, before his eyes lit up. 

“Oh. Oh! Oh oh oh oh ho!” Remus wiggles slightly, clapping his hands. 

“Would you like to share your thoughts?” Cygnus asks, more amused by the antics than anything else. He can tell easily enough Remus is excited, and he’s trying very hard not to think of the cause behind the excitement, because he doesn’t want him to know just yet.

“Nope! You just eat your toast and I will go wake the snake!” He considered arguing, he did, but decides against it. Whatever it is clearly isn’t an emergency, or Remus wouldn’t be so delighted. As much as he revels in the thoughts and play in the imagination, he doesn’t actually want anyone to get hurt hurt, under his care, and his desire right now is more mischevious than anything else.

He shrugs it off and spreads Crofter’s on his toast, managing a few bites before his stomach turns, and he shoves the rest of it away. He doesn’t know why, it’s perfectly appetizing, what he eats for breakfast almost daily, one would think his body would be used to it. 

He huffs, laying his head on his arms on the table, idly rubbing at his face again for some relief. 

“Remus, I swear to god, I will bite you hard enough you will never speak again.” 

“Do you promise?” He snorts, he could imagine the shimmy and wink that accompanied the words well enough, the tone exactly like it had been in his introduction song. He’s heard Remus use those words to taunt Janus hundreds of times since moving in with them. A small scuffle follows, and soon Janus emerges, Remus locked in a headlock, cackling, trying to wiggle his way free. Janus is muttering under his breath as he drags Remus down the hall, cursing as he escapes his hold, but his eyes alight on Cygnus, and he rushes forwards. 

“Hey! No! Stop that!” He startles as Remus slaps his hand away from his face, before turning back to Janus. “See?” Janus drops his foux scowl, as he looks at Cygnus, his expression shifting to one of understanding. 

“Ah. I suppose your fetching of me was warranted.” He looks between the two, slightly befuddled. 

“What exactly is going on?” he asks, their attention shifting back to him. 

“How rude of us. Have you looked in a mirror this morning, Cygnus?” He shakes his head, even more confused now. Remus instantly summons one, passing it to him. He holds it up, looking at his face. 

“What am I looking for, exactly?” 

“Your scales.” Janus replies, once again batting his hand away from his face. He looks closer, and they do seem to be slightly off looking. “You’re going to shed soon, Cyg. It shouldn’t be too bad, you don’t have all that many, so it should be fairly quick. Until then, you need to be careful. I know they itch, but they aren’t ready yet, and scratching them off too early is both painful and dangerous to the new scales forming underneath. You’ve been taking care of them how I showed you?” Janus asks. 

He nods. After he’d changed, and settled in properly, Janus had taken him aside and showed him how to properly care for them, how to oil and moisturize and keep them healthy. He diligently follows Janus’s instructions, tending to them each morning and night. 

“Good. Then there shouldn’t be any problem. You’ll probably feel a little tired, might be a little more irritable than normal, but within a few days, the old skin will naturally fall off. The new scales will be a little more sensitive than normal, but that’s all.” He frowns slightly, looking at Janus. 

“I only have a few.” Janus nods, slightly bewildered. 

“Yes. Or did you forget?” He teases, only becoming more confused as Cygnus shakes his head, a slight frown on his face. 

“You have many. Are your sheds often… difficult?” He hates how Janus’s face closes off immediately, a cold mask of unreadability settling over his features.

“I’ll… Imma… BYEEE!” Remus screeches, launching out of the room with the speed of a startled alley cat, and the same amount of dexterity.

“Janus. You know I’m not asking to take advantage of your state. I won’t tell the others. I just want to help, if you need it.” Janus hesitates, then sighs, dropping into a chair. He can feel Janus wants to trust him, wants to let him in, let him help, but he’s also… afraid. 

“I know. I… it’s not that they’re difficult, necessarily. But they’re unpleasant. The sheds are generally every four to five months. For a week beforehand, I am exhausted, lethargic. I barely eat, can barely move. I typically lose sight in my one eye. I… would be completely unable to defend myself. And as strong as Remus is, if Thomas or any of his other sides decided to take steps to get rid of me, he would not be able to stop them. I would be at their mercy.” His mouth widens in a silent ‘O’. 

“I would never let that happen. Even before this, I would never have let that happen, Janus. And I know Virgil wouldn’t either.” Janus swallowed hard and looked away.

“Occasionally, it does stick. I can’t get it all off, properly. I end up tearing the scales or the skin surrounding it. Usually a soak in the tub is enough to loosen it, but it’s never… a wonderful time.” 

“I wouldn’t imagine so. Especially with the added fear and anxiety of any of them finding out and using it to hurt you.” Something occurred to him. “wait, doesn’t Virgil… know? He lived with you all.” Janus winced slightly. “Oh. That’ part of the problem isn’t it? You were scared that he would be angry enough he would tell us, and put you at risk.  
He didn’t. I don’t think he would have, truly. He doesn’t want you to be hurt, Janus. He just wants to fit in and belong.” Janus sucked in another deep breath. 

“Have you always been this perceptive?” Janus asks weakly, and Cygnus huffs. 

“Yes. When is your next shed?” 

“Not for months, yet.” Janus dismisses. “come on. Let’s play something on the tv. You need to keep your hands busy, or you’re going to scratch those open.” He winces, lowering his hand from where it had once again risen up to itch at his scales. 

“That would be a welcome distraction. I’m sure the sound will summon Remus back from wherever he’s run off to.” 

He smiles as Janus takes his hand, pulling him up from his seat and tugging him towards the living room. He still feels off, but it’s better now that he understands why. And, he supposes, a day or two off won’t harm anything. He has the sense that Janus could use it as much as him.


	2. Comfy Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus realizes Logan always wears his full outfit. He's going to help him change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a suggestion from Lunatic19 from a while ago.

“I don’t understand. What is wrong with my current clothing?” Cygnus asks, looking up from his book with amusement, at Remus, who had busted into his room demanding that they find him ‘better clothes, biatch’. 

“Oh, they’re fine, look good, make your eyes and scales stand out, overall sexilicious, amby pamby, but…” Remus wagged his finger, Cygnus’s brow raised, a smile tugging at his lips.

“But?” He asks, knowing Remus is waiting for him to ask, is bouncing with excitement over whatever this is about. 

“But they can’t possibly be comfortable! You wear that getup all the time! Every day! Even Dee doesn’t do the whole outfit unless he’s gonna be called on by Thomas or the three muskateers! Doesn’t it get stuffy, under all those layers?” Remus asks with a suggestive shoulder shimmy, that has Cygnus huffing out a laugh, throwing a pillow at Remus’s face, feeling the delight rolling off him that Remus got him to laugh. 

“I… suppose you do have a point. It is mostly force of habit, I suppose. When I was… well, I didn’t feel like I could be anything less that formal. Any slip of that professionalism was enough to discredit me entirely.” Remus’s face softens, and he knows it’s because Remus knows what it’s like to play a part, to have to play a part, because that’s all you can be. If you aren’t, then the ache of want consumes you and it’s hopeless. 

“It’s not like that now.” Remus says softly, coming closer across the room, cupping his cheek, meeting his eyes steadily. “We would never think less of you, for not dressing like a college professor, and not even the fun, slutty kind.” He smiles, leaning into Remus’s hand. 

“I know. I know you and Janus wouldn’t. I think… I think even the others wouldn’t, now. That doesn’t make it easy, to let go of. It’s a defense mechanism, of a sort.” Remus nods, pulling away, humming thoughtfully as he pulls open the closet doors, then starts digging through it, rummaging around and throwing clothes out behind him, like a raccoon rooting through the trash. 

“Remus-“ He starts, and he can’t tell if he’s on the verge of laughing or crying. 

“AHA! Gottee!” Remus comes scampering back out, chucking the clothes at Cygnus’s face, who splutters, trying piece together what, exactly, Remus has grabbed. 

The pants are simple, black sweatpants, that look little different than his normal dress pants, aside from being made out of softer fabric and not having buttons or zippers. He dug slippers out from somewhere, too, ones he doesn’t even think he owned, until Remus dove into his closet. They’re soft too, and have the TARDIS on them, fuzzy blue. But it’s the shirt, that chokes him up, as he looks at it. 

It’s new. He knows it is, he hasn’t seen it before, and he looks up at Remus, who’s smiling sheepishly. 

“I know you probably felt weird, wearing your old one, and it’s coming up to that time of year again, so I… I mean, we can tweak the design, of course, I didn’t mean to take the decisions away from you, I just thought, it was one of the only softer things you would ever wear, at least out, so… yeah.” 

It’s a sweater. Like the Christmas sweater, from the year before, but instead of blocky color patterns, it’s all icy mountains and deep blue sleigh bells, swirling snowflakes and icicles. It looks soft and warm and it seems to fit himself so… well, and he’s puzzled yet again at just how perceptive Remus really is. 

“You… made this?” He asks, knowing the answer, as he takes it in his hands, running his fingers over the fabric.

“Uh huh. It’s more of a rough draft, though, so-“ 

“It’s perfect, Remus. Thank you.” He murmurs, cutting off the rambling Remus was about to embark on once again, knowing how nervous Remus is, giving him this, hoping he didn’t overstep, his desire to help almost overwhelming. 

He takes off his jacket and undershirt, rolling his eyes at Remus’s wolf whistle, tugging on the sweater and sighing at the soft warmth. He raises a brow at Remus, who sighs, but turns his back, allowing him to change into the sweatpants and slip on the slippers, before smiling, padding to Remus and hugging him from behind, startling him. 

“thank you.” He murmurs, Remus turning, hugging him back tightly, pressing a kiss to his head, sending warmth shuddering down his spine. 

“Of course, Amby. I just want you to feel safe. And comfortable. And loved. And confident. I want you to be able to be yourself, no matter what yourself is, on any particular day. I want you to know,” Remus pulled back, meeting his eyes, a gentle warmth in his eyes “I want you to know it’s ok. That you don’t have to pretend, to be ok when you aren’t. You don’t have to dress ok, when you aren’t. There’s nothing you have to be. Just… you, is enough.” Remus surprises him, with his softness, his words, but maybe he shouldn’t be. 

How many times, has Remus been told to be something else, to be someone else, to be softer, kinder, gentler, then been told he was less for not being those things? Remus probably understands him, his choices, better than anyone. He does let out a little sob then, pressing tighter into the hug, Remus holding him close. 

“Oh. Oh Cyg…” 

“It’s alright… it’s not bad, just… just a lot…” He manages, pulling back, rubbing at his eyes, letting out a soft puff of breath, smiling up at Remus. “it’s just… nice.” Remus nods, linking their arms, grin bright and real. 

“Alright. While we’re on our way to relaxation station, it’s time for a break. Movie time! Let’s go get snacks, and coax Jan onto the couch for snuggle time, and turn on something that has tons of gore, that Janus can rip apart for plot innacuracies and you can criticize the characters choices because they’re complete and total morons and none of us will feel even the slightest bit bad when any of them die!” 

“Alright. I suppose that would be amenable. Let’s go collect him.” Remus’s shout of triumph makes him laugh, as he pulled him into motion, practically dragging him down the hall, surprised as Janus is already sitting on the couch, popcorn and candy spread across the table, a wonderfully horrible movie already pulled up and ready to play. 

“What took you so long?” He smirks, and Remus just laughs, tugging Cygnus down with him as flops atop Dee, who lets out a small ooph as they land, knocking the air out of him. 

“Was that necessary?” Dee wheezed, though laughter was in his voice. 

“Yes. We are sandwiching Cyg in affection until he explodes. I finally got him in comfy clothes, we have to make sure he doesn’t escape.” Remus replies, laying atop Cygnus, who’s face down on Janus’s lap, and surprisingly content to stay that way. 

“how’d you even know?” He mumbles, feeling Janus’s chuckle, his hand carding through his hair a moment later, along with the desire to do just as Remus had said, smother him in affection until he exploded. 

“Surely you’ve noticed Remus is a pillar of subtlety. I obviously had no clue what he was up to.” Janus drawls, making Cygnus huff himself. 

“You want me to move?” Remus asks, and he shakes his head. Remus’s weight pressing down on him is strangely soothing, reminiscent of a weighted blanket, and he can feel himself relaxing with every breath in and out. 

“You can start the movie. I don’t really need to see it, to know they’re being complete idiots. And I feel I may start dozing, anyways.” He answers, hearing the opening credits roll a moment later. 

“Love you, lovely.” Janus murmurs softly, hand brushing against the scales on his cheek, making him shiver at the pleasant tingles it sent through his body, closing his eyes with an appreciative hum. 

“Thank you. For doing this.” He mumbles, not sure if they can even hear him, over the sound of the movie and his head buried against Janus’s lap. No one says anything, but he can feel Remus’s arms tighten around him, and Janus presses a soft kiss to his head, and he knows they know they don’t need to say anything, for him to be able to tell how much he means to them. How much they love him. How much they want him to be happy and warm and safe. 

He never wants this to end. And his heart soars, just a little, knowing it won’t.


	3. Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman is having a bad day. Janus notices and steps in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some Princey hurt/comfort. This takes place maybe two months after "Falling Apart". It's Roman's first really bad day since then, so he's not comfortable showing it.

It’s a bad day.

He knows as soon as he opens his eyes, it’s a bad day.

He doesn’t know why, everything’s been fine, everyone has been fine, sure, he hadn’t written with Thomas yesterday, cause his host had been too busy, and crashed early, but that was totally fine!

Except it isn’t. It isn’t, because the doubt and loathing is pooling in his gut, and he feels heavy and slow and so, so stupid.

It’s such a stupid thing, to be upset about, and it’s not even that, really, it’s just… just everything, just the weight of everything, the weight of his ideas, their worth, which means his worth, which he knows better than to equate, but he can’t stop himself, on days like this, and it only makes the pit in his stomach grow.

But he swallows it down, gets out of bed, forces his body to cooperate as he stumbles to the bathroom, taking a quick shower.

He stands under the water long after it’ gone from steamy to chilled, simply staring at nothing, that pit growing endlessly. By the time he gets out, he's more cold than he had been before.

He stares at his reflection, leaning on the sink, letting out a heavy sigh, sweeping back his hair. That’s all he has the energy for. That, and applying some foundation, to hide the bags under his eyes. He musters the will to smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, barely even twitches up his lips. It just looks… tired. He’s tired.

He forces a better smile, a more realistic, over the top smile, though it’s so difficult to muster it’s nearly painful. He steels himself, then exits his room. It’s nearly 10am, so everyone else is already awake.

Patton is humming, working on knitting something or other. Janus is subtly sitting close, the knitting project draped over his lap as he reads, pretending not to be leaning against him. Ambition is sitting in his normal armchair, book open on his lap. That sight is enough to get a genuine smile from him, seeing him here, relaxed.

“Goooood morning, my conscientious comrades!” He trills, making everyone look up, Patton smiling warmly, Cygnus nodding in response, and Janus… Janus looks at him hard and long. He manages to repress his wince, not giving up a thing.

“Hey, kiddo! You slept in, everything alright?” his smile doesn’t falter.

“Well enough. Just a little… off, I suppose. Just need to eat something.” He brushes it off, heading into the kitchen, not seeing the glance exchanged by Janus and Ambition.

Virgil’s in the kitchen, puttering with the coffee maker, grumbling to himself, though he looks up at his quiet hello, giving him a small salute.

He doesn’t feel like making anything. He doesn’t feel like eating anything, really, but he needs to.

He shakes his head and grabs a granola bar, along with a gatorade.

“Jeez, Ro, you doing my diet for a day?” Virgil asks, and he manages to chuckle, though it hurts his chest.

“Well, I have always wondered what it’s like to be the emo.” He replies, nearly choking on his bite of the bar, it tastes like ash in his mouth, dry and crumbly, and he quickly takes a swig of the gatorade to cover it up. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d make a great anxiety. “ he smiles a bit at that, huffing.

“Well, you’d be a rather good creativity, I think. You certainly have a lot of ideas. And… well, you and Remus used to collab, right?” Virgil's face flickers for a moment, as he looks down at his coffee, and Roman winces. He knows this is still a sore spot, he knows Virgil isn’t proud of those times, why was he always such a moron?!

“Sorry. I didn’t mean-"

“no, it’s… it’s alright. I just… yeah. Yeah, I did. But that wasn’t very constructive. For us or Thomas.”

“Well. I don’t think anything we were doing back then was very constructive for anyone.” He answers softly, a slightly faraway look on his face, jumping at the hand on his, realizing Virgil had hesitantly crossed the space between them.

“Ro… are you… ok?” He forced out another smile. 

“Didn’t sleep well, is all. I’ll… I’ll be going.” He manages to keep it together as he sinks out to his room, letting his shoulders slump and his smile fade, scrubbing at the useless, stupid tears on the verge of falling.

This is so stupid. He’s so stupid. He hates this, hates what an idiot he is, hates how he can’t stop saying the wrong thing, asking the wrong questions, god, it’s no wonder Thomas needs Remus, because clearly he alone isn’t worth a damn. 

Some air. He just… he needs some air. With a deep breath and wet eyes, he throws open the door to the imagination and stumbles inside. 

He doesn’t know, where he’s going, but as the tears start to fall, he starts to run, sprinting and leaping over logs and rivulets, lungs tearing and sides aching as he runs, runs, runs, until he can’t, anymore. 

So he falls to his knees and buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Worthless. Stupid. Idiot. Naïve. Coward.

And in the living room, Janus's head shoots up, breath catching at the lies flooding his tongue with bitterness.   
…  
“Roman?” He hunches in on himself a little more, though he looks up, the world blurred. He hadn’t realized, he’d crossed the edge into Remus's space, but he had. He was slumped against the outside wall of his fortress.

“hi.” He mumbles, voice thick and choked. 

“You look like shit.” That gets a shallow, slightly hysterical, laugh out of him, which quickly turns into gasping sobs.

“S… sorry…” he manages, feeling Remus crouch down in front of him, eyes dark and worried. “didn’t mean to b…bother you. Didn’t even kn-ow I was h-here.” 

“you’re never bothering me. I mean it, Ro, never. What… what happened?” more laughter burbles up at that, as he shakes his head.

“nothing. Absolutely n-nothing. I’m just… just like this, just a p-pathetic m…mess.”

“No. You are many things, Roman, but you have never been pathetic.” Remus grasps his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. He’s surprised at the intensity blazing there. “Never. It isn’t pathetic to feel, Roman, not even to feel bad. If it were Patton, having a gray day, would you tell him to just get over it? To stop being pathetic?” 

“no. But that’s-"

“it’s not different. Not at all. It’s exactly the same, and everyone will agree with me. Was there any particular trigger?”

“no. Just… woke up, like this.” He mumbled, jumping as Remus pulled him close, into a tight hug, Remus hooking his head over his shoulder, and that pressure broke another dam.

“I know. Get it all out, Ro, it doesn’t do to keep it in. It’s ok.” He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, curled up against Remus, bawling his eyes out, before it quiets down to sniffles and he just feels… empty. Empty nothing, that’s slowly fading back into that too familiar pit, of shame and guilt and lead.

“Better?” Remus asks, and he doesn’t have it in him to shatter the hopeful tinge to his twin's voice.

“yeah. A… a bit, yeah. Thanks.” He mumbles, extricating himself from Remus's arms and getting a bit unsteadily to his feet.

“Ro… you don’t have to go.” Remus says softly, catching his wrist.

“I’ll… be fine, Ree. Just gonna take a nap, I think.” He mumbles, pulling away. “thanks, though.” And with a thin smile, he vanishes back to his room.  
…  
He wasn’t lying, about the nap. He intended to take one. He was already exhausted, even though he’d been up for barely three hours.

Instead, he found himself staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Thank god you don’t have a mustache Roman, or I wouldn’t be able to tell who the evil twin is.”

“Shut up nerdy wolverine.”

“Virgil, could you just… stop? Please?”

“Ugh, Anxiety. I hate that guy.”

The memories play back in his mind, each one making him flinch harder than the last.

“I’m sorry" he whispers, the wash of regret so utterly sickening, because it wasn’t nearly good enough. He squeezed his eyes closed, wanting to scream.  
He was such a moronic fool. He’s still such a moronic fool. He doesn’t deserve their forgiveness, their kindness, their love, on a better day he might be able to believe he was worthy of it, but today isn’t nearly a good day.   
Not when shadows of all his wrongs haunt the corners of his room, suffocating him on his own words, thrown back at him.

Useless.  
Worthless  
Naïve  
Sensitive  
Stupid  
Idiotic  
Moronic   
Fool  
“Roman. That’s not true.” He exhales shakily.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“of course it does, why-"

“It doesn’t matter if it’s objectively true or false. Because I believe it to be true. So it is.” Janus hisses, and he opens his eyes, tilting his head to look at him. “not all days, mind. Not even most. But… but today it is.”

“Roman.” Janus comes closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, a soft frown on his face, as he looked down at him, resting a hand atop his. “Were you going to let any of us know?” He huffs, shaking his head.

“Remus.” He mumbles. “on accident.” 

“Ro-"

“I know, ok?! I know we’ve talked about this a hundred times. I know we’ve already all agreed we need to be open and admit when we’re down, I know it’s okay, to be upset, that doesn’t make me feel like less of an idiot for it, alright?! It doesn’t make it any easier to stop, it doesn’t… it’s not like it all just stops, now that we’ve decided it’s ok!” he takes a deep breath, not meeting Janus's eyes, ignoring the tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Oh… no, Roman, I’m sorry. You’re right. It doesn’t just go away. It doesn’t just stop.” He gasped at Janus's hand softly brushing against his face, wiping away his tears. “it’s hard. It must be so hard, after hiding for so long, to allow yourself to be vulnerable. To know a thing and truly know a thing, are two completely different prospects.” Janus murmurs, another hand finding it’s way into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and he can’t help the small, pitiful whine that escapes at the motion. 

“it hurts.” He begs, gasping at another brush of his cheek. Janus pulls away as if burned, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Touch? It-"

“Don’t let go. Don’t stop. Please, please, don’t…” he breaks off as Janus slips fully onto the bed and pulls him onto his lap, into his arms, in one fluid motion that takes his breath away.

It’s warm. Janus is so warm, and his arms are so firm, yet gentle, as he traces idle patterns against his back, teases at his hair, melting him further with every motion, every soft murmured reassurance, practically a pathetic, mewling lump of tears.

“Lies. Lies, darling.” Janus's breath tickles his ear and a shudder runs through his entire body, leaving him shaking from the overstimulation. It burns, it burns bright and hot like a blazing sun, consuming him entirely, but it feels so amazingly good at the same time, so good and it aches, the need inside him aches.

“Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman. I have you, my prince. I will do better.” He wants to ask what Janus means, but then he feels a soft kiss, pressed against his forehead. It sends fireworks exploding behind his eyes, the world falling apart into an explosion of lights and colors, and he had a moment where he realizes he’s fainting like a victorian lady, before deciding he doesn’t care, as long as this warmth doesn’t stop.  
…  
“He’s sleeping, hush.” 

“He’s ok?” Hesitation. 

“I don’t know. You’d know that better than me.” A soft sigh. He can’t make out what’s said next, the voices drift away, out of focus. He’s warm and pleasantly sleepy, a soft haze over his mind, and he feels more rested than he has in maybe months. 

He stirs slightly. He’s so cozy, he doesn’t want to move, he barely even wants to open his eyes, but he does, blinking blearily, surprised at how dim the light in his room is. He doesn’t remember turning it down. 

“Good morning, Roman.” He blinks again, rolling over onto his side, looking towards the door. Patton’s standing there, and he smiles thinly at his glance, eyes creased. 

“hi. What… what time is it?” He asks, still partly asleep. 

“Nearly noon. You’d worn yourself far too thin, Roman.” Janus answers, though his voice doesn’t have any admonition to it, just gentle concern. “And it’s partially my fault, for not noticing sooner.” 

“What? Why…” Janus shoots a look at Patton, who nods, giving him another glance. 

“Love you, kiddo.” Then Patton is gone, and Janus sighs, resting his head against the doorframe for a moment, before turning to face him. 

“Janus? What’s going on?” 

“What’s my job, Roman?” 

“Deception?” Janus’s lips quirk in a slight smile. 

“Yes, partly, and?” 

“Self preservation?” Janus nods, something regretful in his eyes, as he tugs at his gloves. 

“yes. And what are you, Roman?” He blinks.

“Um. Creativity? Passion? Hopes and dreams? What? Why’re you looking at me like that?” He sits up, brow furrowed, and Janus mutters something, that sounds suspiciously like ‘clueless morons’.

“You’re the Ego, Roman.” He opens and closes his mouth several times, feeling like the wind was knocked out of him, and his tired brain can barely catch up. If he were a laptop there would be the spinning wheel of death as his cursor. 

“what?” 

“Hopes. Dreams. Passion. Ego. And it’s my job, supposed to be my job, to protect you.” Oh. Well that… that is something to ponder. Because they’ve come a long way. After the trial, after the wedding, after Ambition, so much has changed, so much has been forgiven and set aside and he trusts Janus, now. But hearing that… hurts. 

“You… then why… Janus…” he breaks off, shoving a hand through his hair, trying to process. 

“I was distracted. I was so caught up in trying to be listened to, that I sacrificed my purpose for my own gain. And now… I’ve been neglecting you. Not… not on purpose. I just… there’s a lot going on, and I lost sight once again. I’m sorry, Roman.” 

“You hurt me.” He whispers, fiddling with the blanket, old scars starting to ache from the memories.

“I know, Roman.” He shakes his head, grip tightening on the covers. 

“You… I tried, so hard, to be what everyone needed. What everyone wanted. You used me. You strung me along, then let me fall. I… I was broken. I was so broken, Janus, and I almost…” He swallows hard, looking down, not able to meet Janus’s eyes. 

“Roman…” Janus’s voice was hoarse, desperate, and he knew Janus knew, what he was going to say. 

“I thought about it. I… I planned for it, really. Wrote the letters. Just didn’t… didn’t have the resolve, to go through with it. Was too much of a coward.” 

“What… what are you saying?” He huffs out a sharp laugh, briefly meeting Janus’s eyes. 

“I was going to duck out.” He chokes even saying it, it hurts his throat. “I was going to duck out, and I didn’t… I didn’t think anyone would miss me. I’d made all the wrong choices. I’d hurt everyone. There was already a back up, waiting to go, and at that point, well, why wouldn’t I think he could do better?” 

“That’s not true.” He laughs again, shaking his head. 

“Some days it sure feels like it.” 

“Please. Roman, please, let me help, let me… let me fix this, let me do what I always should have. Let me protect you.” 

“I don’t know if you can.” He whispers. Janus tilts his head up, and he’s shocked, at the heartbroken look on the snake side's face, looking more vulnerable and hurt than even after he’d revealed his name. “that… it wasn’t the first time, I’d thought about it. But it was the closest I’d ever gotten to actually doing it. It’s not even that I want to go, I just… some days I can barely stand to be here, I just want to stop, I want to be able to stop. I just want to not exist.” He doesn’t look at Janus. He can’t, not with shame burning his cheeks, guilt swirling inside for his failure. “The Cockatrice was the worst I’d ever been hurt, but not the first time I’d thought about just letting the wounds do me in.” Janus hisses again, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hating the tears welling up in his eyes. 

“You… Roman, how often? How often do you get hurt, do you patch yourself up, do you…” He takes a shuddering breath, hearing Janus gasp as he lets the slight glamour he always he wears over his skin fade. He knows exactly what it reveals. 

The scar across the bridge of his nose. The three puncture scars along the side of his left eye. The ridge across his right cheek, still tender, newly healed. Not to mention everything his clothes are hiding. The scar around his neck, from being held in chains, once, matching ones on his wrists and ankles. Old scars of nicks and cuts litter his torso, his legs, his arms. The longer ones, across his chest, from enemy weaponry, enemy strikes. The one across his lower leg, that nearly took out his Achilles tendon. That had been a bitch, he’d limped for days, maybe weeks, after that one, leg stiff and aching. A couple places where his skin was a bit rough, a bit puckered, from burns, mostly along his hands, his arms, from when his shield got too hot, from dragon fire. No matter the enchantment on it, it could never quite negate dragon fire. And the five long ribbed scars, running down his back, from that one rogue who’s main weapon was a cat o nine tails whip, and had landed an agonizingly solid blow. The puncture wounds hidden by his hair, from dive bomb attacks. 

“Roman…” He shook, as Janus gently traced the scar across his cheek, the bridge of his nose, the edge of his eye, finally resting against his other cheek, his thumb stroking soft circles against his skin, practically lighting aflame, with the intensity of the touch. “Oh, my dearest prince.” He shuddered, squeezing his hands closed. 

“Don’t. Don’t say that, don’t say that like you mean it, don’t pretend you meant that, Janus. You don’t. You never have.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because it’s true! I don’t mean more to you than Remus, than Ambition, than Virgil! I know that, I know if you have to choose one of them over me, it will always be them, no matter what else you claim.” He pulls away from Janus’s touch, though it takes everything in him, and he feels icily cold, so burning cold it nearly breaks him inside, without that touch.

“Please, look at me, Roman. Please.” He did, heart cracking further at the devastation on Janus’s face. He watched as Janus slowly took off his gloves, setting them aside, raising one hand, the other over his heart. 

“I have wronged you. I know it, and I am so truly sorry, Roman, for causing you so much pain, for making you feel you have to hide this. And I promise, from now on, I will do everything in my power to protect you, to do what I should always have been doing: my job. Which is to protect you, from them, from me, from yourself, from anyone who makes you feel less than. Please, Roman. Let me do this. Let me do this for you.” His breath catches, eyes roving over Janus’s face, looking for any hint of anything less than pure honesty, anything less than sincere, anything other than the broken hope burning in his eyes. “please, Roman.” 

He caves He can’t help but cave. Because some part of him has always been drawn to Janus, even before when he thought Janus was wrong and bad, he’d been unable to resist his flattery, to avoid rising to his bait, because after he’d fallen apart totally, he’d still trusted Janus to put him back together. 

So he falls against Janus, who gathers him close, pulls him into his arms, and he shudders, shaking, at the warmth blitzing through his system, the burning heat consuming him completely, and he needs it, this softness, this tenderness, it fills him up inside and he feels so greedy, for taking this, for needing this. 

“Hush, my prince. You aren’t taking anything. I’m giving this to you. I will always give this to you. Whenever you need it, whatever you need, I will give it.” 

“Don’t let go. Don’t…” 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting go, Roman.” Janus’s murmur settles him somewhat, and he slowly finds himself calming, his breathing evening out to match Janus’s, Janus’s heart a steady thump against his ear. He slumps, spent, letting out a sigh and letting his eyes drift closed, as Janus strokes his hair, thumb brushing his forehead. It feels so good, it feels so, so, good, he doesn’t know the last time he felt this relaxed, this… safe. 

“thank you, Roman. For… trusting me.” Janus whispers, and he nuzzles closer. 

“you’re warm.” He mumbles, feeling the slight rumble of Janus chuckling. 

“Am I? Usually I feel cold.” He shakes his head, content not to move further. 

“s the touch. It’s so warm, you’re so… warm, Jan. I thought you were cold, once. You always were to everyone else. But even when you didn’t like me, you were warm.” 

“I’ve always liked you, Roman. I’ve just never been good at showing it.” He hums considerably. “Roman. Will you let me help you? When this happens, when you feel like this, will you please let me in?” 

“…yes. Don’t… tell the others? Not yet, please.” 

“I won’t. But I encourage you to share it with them. They only want to help, to support you, I promise.” 

“I’ll try.” 

“Thank you, Roman.” Another brush of his forehead sent a rush of warmth through him, that had him making him shiver. He’s never moving, he swears to the gods, he’s never moving again. He has the distinct feeling that things are going to get better.


	4. Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some slimey boi angst  
> This takes place probably two months after Cygnus switches sides.

It’s the middle of the night. 

“The witching hour” He imagines Virgil saying in his spookiest voice, that small, excited smirk on his lips. It almost makes him laugh. 

It’s the middle of the night and he’s awake, because he’s had a stupid, stupid dream, that he can just barely remember the gist of, because Cygnus left them, left him, and if there’s one thing he’s terrified of it’s being abandoned.

He should just go back to sleep. He knows Cygnus wouldn’t leave, at least not without saying goodbye, not at all, but…

But a pit of wrongness has settled into his stomach, making him want to rip it out and dissect it, to remove whatever is causing this sinking cold. On a better day, he might. If it were day at all, he might, but it’s the middle of the night and he doesn’t want to be covered in blood first thing in the morning. It tends to worry Janus, and he doesn’t want to do that. 

Janus gets worried when he hurts himself, even though he reassures him every time that he isn’t really hurt, it doesn’t really do anything, he doesn’t believe it can hurt so it doesn’t. Cygnus thinks the same way, though he doesn’t flaunt it as much as he does, Cygnus doesn’t rip out his heart to give to people, or have his eyes literally pop out of his sockets, or come back from the imagination nearly torn to shreds sometimes, but laughing through the blood despite it, because of it. But he thinks Cygnus understands, sometimes, better than Janus does. 

Understands, that the pain makes him feel alive, that the blood drives him farther, that injuries mean nothing in the pursuit of pure creation, that he’s doing what he loves, and he’ll take the wounds as proof of his victories. Cygnus has his own scars, after all. They may not be physical, but they’re there, tucked away in his pretty little head. He’s felt them wiggling around in there, all those nasty little parasites telling his Polaris that he isn’t worth them, doesn’t matter, deserves all the hurt. He’s felt them less and less as time goes on. 

He’s getting his confidence back. He’s speaking more, apologizing less for speaking more, accepting their affection and attentions more easily, though he still gets adorably flustered at every compliment, at every touch, at every moment where they ask for his opinion then actually take it into account. 

He feels his heartrate pick up, as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and starts pacing.

He should go back to sleep.

He can’t go back to sleep until he checks. 

He nearly screams at the realization, he feels like such a child, sneaking into his parent’s room after an unsettling dream crying wolf. He’s not supposed to be afraid of the dark, the dark is supposed to fear him. 

‘what if he’s gone?’ His mind whispers. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, though he knows it just makes them worse. 

‘what if he left, because he hates you? You scared him, freaked him out, with your… everything.’ That voice sneers, and he shrinks in on himself slightly. 

“No. no, he wouldn’t, he promised…” his voice sounds weak even to his own ears, and he can feel that voice inside of him laughing coldly. Fuck it, fuck it all, he has to check, or that voice won’t go away, and he’ll end up tearing at his skin, tearing at himself, trying to claw that noise out of his brain and he’s gone too long without a breakdown to have one now, about something so stupid. 

He growls softly, as he stalks to his door, flinging it open, though he catches it a centimeter before it slams into the wall, and closes it quietly behind him. He makes his way to the middle of the hall, taking a deep breath as he stares at Cygnus’s door, the familiar deep blue, his title on a small placard in swirling silver calligraphy. 

He rests a palm against the smooth wood, so different from his own, chipped and covered in coats and coats of paint, stickers, decals, he switches it up almost every week, he can never decide on a single look, so he just does them all. But Cygnus’s is smooth and simple, elegant, warm. Just like Cyg.

He pushes open the door, just a crack. 

“amby?” He whispers, taking a tentative step inside, when he doesn’t get any response. “Cyg?” Nothing. 

He takes another step inside, the stars on the ceiling shifting, brightening the room a little, and he freezes, blood going cold. 

Cygnus isn’t here. 

His covers are tucked in neatly, his room is as clean and organized as ever, and there’s no sign of Cygnus anywhere. 

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen, but he must’ve, because suddenly he’s kneeling on the floor, curling in on himself, nails biting into his skin as he fights for breath, because he was right, Cyg is gone, Cygnus is GONE and it’s all his fault, he must have done something, he must have driven him away, God, why does he always ruin EVERYTHING? 

Gone, gone, gone, gonegonegonegonegonegonegonegonegonegone

Just like Roman, just like Virgil, of course he’d go back, of course he’d leave, why would he stay, why would anyone stay, he’s so stupid!

‘I told you. He left. He left, and Janus probably went with him, and no one cares about you.’ That voice spits, and he whimpers, pathetic. He’s pathetic and stupid and alone, all alone, he’s alone, please, please, Please! 

He can’t breathe. He can’t, the plummeting despair is dragging him down, dark speckles taking over his vision, as he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to face the emptiness. 

‘no one wants you. Your own twin doesn’t even want you, why would they? Why would he?’ 

“no… nono… no…nononono… please… please…” his voice breaks and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe through the fear, the panic, his heart is breaking because he loves him, he loves his family, and even if they’re gone he’ll still love them. 

The darkness is pressing in on him. It’s pressing in on him, and he can’t breathe, it’s crushing him, down, down, down, into the floor, and he’s so small, he’s so small, there’s nothing, there’s nothing to stop him from crumbling to pieces. 

“Remus?” A voice, soft and questioning, but he can barely hear it over the noise in his head, the screaming pitch like a kettle going off, and it hurts his ears, it hurts his head, it hurts his soul, and he’s drowning, drowning, drowning! 

“Remus. You aren’t alone. You aren’t. No one’s left you. I’m here, Cygnus is here, I’m here.” The voice says firmly but gently, and he feels hands carefully prying his own away from where they’ve dug into his flesh. 

“P… please…” He rasps out, he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but Cygnus must, he always does, and if this is real and not just his own head taunting him again, then Cygnus will know what to do. 

“Oh, Ree.” He’s pulled forwards, and he doesn’t fight it, practically falling over in pursuit of that touch, shaking as he feels himself drawn onto someone’s lap, arms holding him close and tight, but not constrictingly so, just firm and grounding and he gasps, taking in a shaky breath, when had he stopped breathing? He doesn’t know, but his lungs are on fire, and he still isn’t breathing quite right, but it’s something, he’s getting something into his lungs, and the speckles start to recede just slightly. Just enough to recognize the soft pajamas he’s pressed against, to register the soft smell of paper and ink and tea, to realize this was… real. 

He lets out a small sob, pressing closer, desperate for the contact, for the warmth, for the pure presence of Cygnus. 

“s…sorry. I’m…” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Remus. I’ve got you, it’s ok.” He just nods, burying his face against Cygnus.  
…  
“I thought you left.” He mumbles. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but his tears have finally ran dry, leaving him exhaustedly spent, and Cygnus’s gentle reassurances have finally driven away the hateful voice in his head. “I had a nightmare you left and hated me, and I had to check, and you weren’t here, and I thought… I thought you’d left, and it all got so loud and empty and…” he forced a deep breath in and out, feeling Cygnus rub his back. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I swear, Remus, I will never leave you all by yourself, I will never leave you all alone, I will always be there when you need me.” Cygnus’s words release some of the tension in his chest, and he slumps against Cygnus, taking another shuddering breath. 

Cygnus doesn’t lie. Not about things like this, anyways. 

“You can stay. You’re always welcome in here, Remus, no matter the time of day or night.” Cygnus pulls back slightly, and he almost whines, but then Cygnus is brushing back his hair, and he’s looking right into those captivating eyes, his scales glimmering ever so slightly under the light of the stars. 

Cygnus is here. Cygnus isn’t leaving. Cygnus wants him to stay. 

“Can I take a look at your arms, Ree? I would like to get those taken care of, if you’ll let me.” He nods, glancing down at his arms, he’d already forgotten he hurt himself, but red is slowly dripping down from the punctures left by his nails. 

Cygnus summons a first aid kit, gentle as he wipes away the blood, disinfects it all, tapes gauze in place, then lets his hands trail down Remus’s arms, finally taking both his hands. 

“Nothing you could ever do would drive me away, Remus. I know how much you care, about everyone, about all of us, about… about me. I know your thoughts are a part of you, but they do not define you, and I know you have incredible control, despite your seeming lack of it, to filter through them and only act on the least destructive ones. You cared, Remus, when no one else did, you cared. I would never repay that by leaving you alone.” 

“I don’t… want to keep you here, from… guilt…” He hushes as Cygnus leans in close, pressing his lips to his forehead, sending warmth shooting from his ears to his toes. 

“It’s not guilt, Remus. It’s love.” He shivers as Cygnus pulls back, again, a soft smile on his lips, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and he knows, he knows, Cygnus means it. 

“oh.” 

“Oh, indeed. Do you think you could sleep?” He nods, already feeling drowsier, now, that his mind has quieted, Cygnus’s room always helps on that account, as does Cygnus himself. 

“with you? Yes.” He says quietly, a rare moment of pure sincerity. There’s a thousand jokes he could have made, with that sentence, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to shatter this moment that feels so delicate. 

“alright. Come on, then.” Cygnus says softly, helping pull him to his feet, leading him over to his bed. Cygnus climbs in first, patting the spot next to him, and without any hesitation, he climbs in beside him, quickly turning so he’s facing Cygnus, clinging to his shirt and burying his face in his shoulder. For some reason he still expects Cygnus to shove him away, and he’s so relieved when he doesn’t, when he just chuckles lowly, pulling the blankets up around them, wrapping his arms around Remus and resting his own head atop Remus’s, so Remus can feel each of his breaths ruffling his hair, can feel Cygnus’s heartbeat against his chest. One of Cygnus’s hands finds its way into his hair, and he nearly moans at how good it feels, as he starts teasing through it. 

“goodnight, Remus.” Cygnus’s voice feels distant, as he drifts off, warmth and light fizzing through his chest, as the final tendrils of the lingering fear dissolves. 

“G’night.” He mumbles back, nuzzling his head against Cygnus’s cheek, feeling his low rumble of laughter, smiling. 

Cygnus is here. He isn’t alone. 

And this is going to be the best sleep he has had in a very, very, long time.


	5. Panic Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil has a panic attack and ends up somewhere he doesn't expect.

It’s too loud. 

It’s too loud, and he can’t make it stop, but it’s dead silent at the same time, but still, it’s too loud, his own body is too loud. 

He hates it. Hates the rasping muffled gasp of his breath, wheezing in and out through lungs that seem turned to stone, no matter how hard he presses a hand against his mouth, shoves his fist into it to muffle the sound, it’s so loud. He hates his pulse rushing through his ears, an irregular, pounding beat that makes any other noise hazy and strange, like he’s underwater, and that makes his eyes squeeze shut because now he’s thinking of water, of drowning, of everything down in the depths of the sea, sharks aren’t even the worst of it, honestly, they’re pretty tame compared to some of the other shit Remus has shown him. 

His thoughts are racing. He can’t settle on one for more than a second, a constant slurry of fears and screams and whispers that choke out any sanity, and he can feel himself slipping, can feel the eyes opening across his wallpaper, unfurling like twisted butterflies, watching him, seeing him, and he shakes, the darkness swirling into a vortex, swirling around him and eating him up, he doesn’t even remember what brought this on, anymore, he just knows that it’s like all of his fear and anxiousness that he manages and sifts through and dismisses on a daily basis has somehow exploded into a wildfire that’s tearing him apart. Like they have a mind of their own and are tired of him holding them back. 

He can feel his eyeshadow darkening, his veins starting to run black, his eyes glowing, his sweater shifting, his awareness breaking, as eyes open all across it, allowing him to see 360 degrees around him, see any threat coming from any direction, and this is bad, this is bad, it hasn’t happened in so long, he hasn’t slipped this badly in so long, and he needs to get out, he needs to leave, otherwise he’s going to make this stop the only way he knows how, otherwise he’s going to hurt himself, he needs to go, otherwise- 

He doesn’t know where he is anymore. 

He knows he’s sunk out of his room, but he doesn’t know where he’s gone, besides following a gut instinct, following it somewhere safe, it was supposed to be safe, god, let it be safe!

He hears words, he knows its words but he cannot understand them, past the cotton in his ears, past the panic spiking through his every pore, and he can’t breathe, there’s no air and he can’t breathe, and he’s going to explode, any second now, the darkness is going to consume him and he’s going to explode, and he doesn’t know how to walk this back from the edge, how to make it stop, how to keep himself from shifting further back into Paranoia. 

And still, he doesn’t know where he’s gone, he could be in the middle of nowhere, he could be in Remus’s imagination, and a thousand monsters are circling him, ready to tear him apart with gnashing teeth and razor claws, he could be floating through the endless void of space, and he doesn’t even realize he’s suffocating and freezing to death yet, because he’s so cold and starved of oxygen already, he could be trapped in a tiny metal box with a thousand locks, and it’s slowly pressing in on him, and if he can’t figure a way out he’ll be crushed to death, smashed into a tiny cube barely recognizable as a human, or-

He jerks back at a touch, hissing and baring his teeth, snarling, for all his eyes he can’t see a damn thing, not when the entire world is swirling around him like the worst carnival ride ever, like the one you stand in and then it spins, and centrifugal force keeps you in place, and he can’t get his bearings, get any bearings, if even one of his senses would work properly he could figure this out, but they’re all overloaded and on the verge of giving out completely at how much information he’s trying to process at once, he feels like a computer that’s running a million programs and is overheating and fritzing out and about to explode, he’s about to explode, he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want this, but the thought only makes him sink further into it, and he doesn’t know how to claw his way out of this pit that he’s in! 

The touch comes again, firm and strong, around each of his wrists, and no matter how hard he jerks away he can’t get free, he’s trapped, trapped, trapped! But the grip gives his mind something to focus on, something physical to cling to, to slow the swirling in his head. 

Someone is talking. The words aren’t clear, yet, but he can make out the tone, soft and gentle, it doesn’t sound threatening, it doesn’t sound like a monster, it just sounds like a person, the voice, he knows that voice, he knows it, if he can just place that voice, but spinning, spinning, spinning, everything is spinning, spiraling, crashing-

“four, five, six, seven, now, exhale for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Inhale, one two three four…” Counting. Counting, he knows those counts, breathing, he was… was supposed to breath with it, he isn’t breathing, he can’t breathe, he can't-

A choked sound escapes his throat, halfway between a growl and a whine, everything in him screaming danger, danger, danger, but he can’t move, can’t do anything, is stuck, is stuck in his head.

“Virgil. It’s ok. It’s ok. Can you squeeze my hands, if you can hear me?” The hands holding his wrists shift, lightly holding his hands instead, and he manages a weak squeeze, though it takes so much effort, simply that takes so much effort. 

“Good, that’s good. You’re having a panic attack, a rather severe one. Just breathe with me, okay? Just try and breathe.” 

One of his hands is pressed against something warm and he realizes it’s a chest, and he can feel the rise and fall of it, the heartbeat, and he slowly, so slowly, slumps forwards so he’s resting against the chest, hearing the thump against his ear, and slowly, so slowly, feels his own stutter and start like an old broken down engine.

He can feel his sweater starting to fade back to its normal purple, his eyeshadow dimming, though his veins are still black, panic still coursing through him, he can breathe now, but all his muscles are tensed, every inch of him braced and trembling and each gasping inhale just tightens him further. 

“s… scared… please…m-make it st-stop, can’t… can’t make it st-op.” He rasps out, shaking, curling tighter into a ball, his breath stuttering again, starting to fail.

“I know. I know, Virgil. Just take a deep breath, just do that, in and out.” He manages, barely, the air burning his lungs, but it does loosen his chest slightly, and he manages another one. 

“Good. That’s good.” Hands gently untangle him from around himself, then one is lifting his chin, and he’s staring into silver and indigo eyes. 

“You’re safe, Virgil. You’re safe. I promise, nothing will hurt you here, you’re safe.” Ambition promises, Ambition, so that’s where he’d gone. He doesn’t have the mental capacity to question it, right now, instead he lets out a deep, shaking breath that turns into a giant sob. Then he’s falling back against Ambition, bawling like a baby, clinging to him and hating himself for it, for how stupidly weak he is, he wishes he weren’t such a stupid idiot, that literally nothing happening would cause him to break down. 

“You aren’t stupid. There’s nothing stupid about it. We all get overwhelmed, sometimes, it’s ok. It’s ok.” He doesn’t know why that makes him sob harder, gross sobs that have snot running down his face, and god knows what this is doing to Thomas right now, but nothing great, that’s for sure. 

“don’t worry about that right now. Just focus on yourself. Focus on breathing.” Ambition murmurs, starting to rub his back, occasionally murmuring something, just holding him. 

Why did he come here? 

He knows Ambition's old room always helped settle him, clear his head, but there’s no way Ambition welcomes his intrusion now, there’s no way this is what he wants to be doing with his day, not after how he acted when he first changed, not after how he’d treated Remus and Janus, not after what he's done-

‘pathetic. If you weren’t so weak, maybe they’d actually give a damn. If you weren’t such a sniveling coward… but then again, old habits are hard to break…’ that voice, that dark voice that’s him but isn’t whispers, and he panics, he panics because the want is suddenly so strong, and surely Ambition can feel it, and he's going to ask, and then he’ll have to tell him and see the disgust on his face when he realized just how pathetic he really is.

He hears Ambition gasp, and he shakes, curling back into a ball, that voice in his head laughing at him as he shoves away, into a corner, into a wall, trying to hide.

“Sorry… I’m-I'm s-orry, I’m sorry-" 

‘shut up, shut up, shut up!’ he screams at that voice, the one that’s telling him if he deserves to be hurt, then do it, the one that’s reminding him he used to do it all the time, the one that’s reminding him of all the sharp things in his room, the scissors, the sewing needles, the razor-

No. no no no, he doesn’t do that anymore, he doesn’t want to do that anymore, he-

‘liar' the voice hisses, and he curls tighter, because it’s right. 

He wants it. He wants to put a name to his hurt, he wants the clarity that comes with every little cut, he wants the peace that watching his own blood well up and cascade down his arms brings, he wants to do something to make all of this stop!

“Virgil…” it’s not fair. It’s not fair for his voice to be that soft, that gentle, when he’s about to cast him out, scoff at him, let him know just how pathetic he is, as if he doesn’t already know. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t, he doesn’t, please!

He's slipping again, the black deepening, pulsing through him, thrumming in his bones, please! 

Make it stop, make it stop, stopstopstopstoptooloudtooloudhurtspleasestoppleaseImsorrystopSTOP

Warmth is a shock to his system. It jolts his mind to a halt, freezes everything, and he realizes Ambition is hugging him tightly, almost but not quite squeezing him, tucking his head over Virgil's shoulder, encompassing him in warmth. 

“it’s ok. Virgil, it’s ok. Just breathe, it’s ok.”

“Isn’t…” he manages, gasping in great, heaving breathes that shake his frame from head to toe.

“It is. It is, it is, because instead of doing that, instead of hurting yourself, you came here. You reached out, that’s good, Virgil, that’s very good.” Ambition replies, and he feels the shame and disgust and self loathing writhing through him.

“I’m sorry.”

“for what, Virg? What do you think you’ve done wrong?”

“Everything.” He mumbles emphatically, unable to bring himself to pull away like he should. “what have I done right? The way I acted towards Jan and Rem, towards you, the way I always shoot down everyone’s ideas, the way I just… I just get in the way and I’m sure this is the last thing you want to be doing and I should be able to handle my own damn job by now, I should be able to do this without-"  
Without breaking down. Without falling apart. Without needing to add to the thin white lines up and down his arms.  
“without slipping so far back into Paranoia.” He whispers, feeling Ambition still at his words.

“Paranoia… Virgil, what?” he laughed, a broken, choked sound.

“it’s what I was. As a dark side. But it’s not like you, where you’re one and then the other, it’s like a…a sliding scale. Like when I’m overwhelmed or lose control everything becomes a threat and I go into overdrive and I can’t make it stop!” he can. There’s one way he can, there’s one thing that always works, and it’s so simple, just a little cut. A little pain. A little red.

No. No. No. He won’t. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Virgil. I promise. I promise I’m not angry at you for anything or disgusted by you or any of those other things you’re so afraid of. I’m still just proud of you for coming to me, for getting help. I think you’re brave, for telling me what you have. You’re going to be alright, I’m not letting go. I promise. You deserve this kindness, I promise.” He sobs again, pressing closer. “It’s like when the duke gets lost in his thoughts and needs someone else to reel him back in.” a hand strokes through his hair, making him melt, his breath stutter at the sudden rush of pleasure. 

“And I won’t ask, about it. I could feel the… desires, yes, but I won’t ask. Not if you don’t want me to, Virg. That’s personal, and I won’t intrude. But I will be here if you need help, always. If you want to talk about it.”

“It was the only way to make everything… stop. I didn’t think it was anything, I just… coped. And then… then I cut too deep. And Jan found me bleeding out on my bedroom floor. I still… but not as often, not as badly. And then I moved and it got… it got bad again, before I ducked out. Everyone hated me, and I hated me, and it was all I could do! But I haven’t done it, since, since after…” His voice is weak, trembling, he still remembers the pain, it hurt so bad, and then it didn’t, the world going muted and hazy. He remembers Janus's face, pale and scared, he’d never seen Janus scared, and for a moment he thought that might be the last thing he ever saw.

It was hard. It was so hard, but Janus and Remus were patient and there for him and made sure he knew he could come to them, day or night.

“and then you left. And I came so, so close, it just… it hurt. I… hurt and I just needed something to show for it, I wanted… I deserved… but I couldn’t. I was a coward, and I just… I kept seeing Jan's face, and I knew if I did it, I wasn’t going to be able to stop from going too far. Going… off the edge, and it terrified me, because I almost just… didn’t care.” 

“You’re so brave.” Ambition murmurs, and he scrunches his face, confused. “You are, Virg, I know you don’t think it but you are. It takes so much courage to keep living when you don’t feel you have a reason to. To keep going when everything in you is trying to drag you down into apathy. You’re so strong, Virgil. This doesn’t make you pathetic or weak, it makes you stronger than any of us. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Virgil, I’m sorry that I did so badly.” 

“I know you didn’t. It’s like I told Thomas, I did the same, it was what you felt was best for you. I know you didn’t do it to hurt us, it just…” 

“It still did. I know. I know and I’m still sorry for it, Virgil. I still care about you, and I’m so glad you came to me.” 

“I’m not your problem anymore. I shouldn’t be here.” He choked out. Ambition pulls back, holding his chin so they’re eye to eye, his gaze so intense it nearly burns him. Ambition’s face is wet, he’s crying, Virgil realizes, at some point Ambition’s started crying.

“You have never been a problem and I have never stopped loving you.” Ambition’s voice is as hot as his gaze, serious and unyielding. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t know how to respond to any of this. He’s all frazzled and out of sorts and now that the panic and fear is well and truly fading, his adrenaline rush is crashing and he’s just exhausted. 

“You need to recover after an attack like that. You’re burned out, aren’t you?” Ambition murmurs, still not moving his hand from his chin, instead using his thumb to stroke his cheek, a trail of warmth left in its wake that has him shuddering, his eyes flickering shut. He knows his weight is slowly slumping forwards, the only thing he can feel is that hand supporting his chin, the only thing keeping him up at all right now. “Oh, Virg, you really are precious.” He whines slightly, and Ambition chuckles, pulling him close once more. He’s only mildly surprised when he feels himself being lifted, wiggling slightly against the hold. 

“Shhh, Virg, I’m just moving us to the bed, so you can sleep.” He stills as he feels them shift again, nuzzling close as Ambition pulls the covers up around them, Ambition humming lowly, his hand slipping under his sweater to trace idle patterns against his bare skin, that sends a low buzz of sleep drunk pleasure rushing through him. But he still resisted sleep. He didn’t want the nightmares to come back. 

“They won’t, Virg. Not while you’re here, I’ll make sure of it. Just sleep, alright? You’ll be ok.” He feels a kiss pressed to his forehead, and that sends him over the edge.

Ambition lets out a low breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, as he watches Virgil finally fully relax, the lines of worry on his face evening out, the darkness of his eyeshadow and the black tint to his veins fading as he calms in his sleep. 

“I mean it, Virg. You are the strongest person I will ever know.” He murmurs, wiping away the tears on his own face, before stroking a hand across Virgil’s brow, smiling slightly at the involuntary sigh it gets from him, as he leans in to his hand. 

Virgil isn’t ok. 

But he will be.


End file.
